


Bucky Barnes and the Unintentional Love Story

by valiantlybold



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Bears, Brooms, Cheek Kisses, Everyday Magic, Fluff, Flying Carpets, France (Country), Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Ilvermorny, M/M, Magic, Norway (Country), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sweden (country), Wands, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), awkward boys, defense against the dark arts professor steve, fury is a legilimens bc of course he is, hand-holding, norway wilderness, potions master bucky, steve is Attacked, steve is the newt scamander of dada, the animal kind not the other kind, wizarding medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Bucky is just a simple potions master, and he didnotsign up for this!But Headmaster Fury gives him no choice, and sends Bucky on a crazy mission to offer the mysterious travelling researcher Steve Rogers the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Ilvermorny.Well, Bucky decides that since Rogers is most likely going to decline the offer, Bucky might as well treat this whole thing as a free trip around the world.Then again, the unexpected always seems to happen, doesn't it?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alittlewicked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlewicked/gifts).



> here it be!!!! finally!!!!
> 
> my entry to the 2019 Marvel Reversese Bang!! and i couldnt be more excited about it!
> 
> along with some awesome art by alittlewicked, whom you will find links for in the notes!
> 
> its my first ever HP-fusion fic (and my first time writing anything HP related) so be gentle <3 i did my best lol

“I’m- I’m doing _what?”_

Bucky was _shaken_ by this. The semester _just_ ended, and Bucky was _really_ looking forward to some vacation time, and now the Headmaster was sending him out on a wild Niffler chase?

“You’re going to find Professor Steven Rogers,” Fury said plainly. “Our current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has asked to retire, but will do us the favor of staying in service until we can find a replacement. After looking at possible names, I think Rogers will be the best suited. I think he’ll bring something unique to the table.”

Bucky swallowed dryly.

Okay. Alright. Fury obviously had a lot of faith in this guy, so he had to be worth it. Fury wouldn’t put in this amount of effort if the guy wasn’t worth it. Bucky was just a little amazed that _he_ was the one being asked to do this. He knew for a fact, there were many members of the faculty more suited for it than him.

“No, there isn’t, Barnes,” Fury said, reading Bucky like a book.

Or like the Legilimens that Fury indeed was.

“Man, I really don’t like it when you read my mind,” Bucky whined.

“Then stop thinking so loudly,” Fury countered, before picking a small stack of papers off his desk and offering them to Bucky. “That should be everything you need to know. Pack your bags.”

Bucky resigned himself with a sigh, accepting the papers. He really didn’t have a choice, did he?

“No, you don’t,” Fury said curtly.

Bucky shuffled out of the Headmaster’s office.

*

Bucky flipped through his papers.

Steven Grant Rogers, born 1940, pure-blood. Descended directly from Deliverance Dane, a highly regarded witch who was unfortunately executed during the Salem Witch Trials; his mother was Sarah Rogers, née Dane, and his father was Joseph Rogers, from another prominent family. He went to Ilvermorny, and was selected by, _oh, look at that,_ all the Houses, before choosing Thunderbird. Consistently one of the highest achieving students in his year, graduated with honors, was offered several different positions within the Congress _and_ the International Confederation but turned them all down to go on his so-called adventure around the world. Hm, apparently he’d been at it since he graduated. Wow. That meant he had been travelling since _19_ _59_ _._

Going by all this, Bucky doubted Rogers would accept the offer of a teaching position. His first thought had probably been right, then; the whole thing was a wild Niffler chase.

But Fury wasn’t giving Bucky a choice, so he supposed he could always look on the bright side. It would be like a vacation! He’d go to Europe and find Rogers, give him the offer, then spend the rest of the summer enjoying Europe on his own when Rogers turned it down!

So it wasn’t all bad, Bucky decided.

He got up from behind his desk and waved his wand, first at his suitcase then at his wardrobe. The suitcase slunk out from where it had been tucked in under his bed; it picked itself up and laid itself out on top of the bed, opening wide. The wardrobe opened and his clothes began to parade out. On the way, they all folded themselves together neatly, packing themselves into the bag. He waved the wand again here and there, picking out everything he’d need on the trip and sending it into his suitcase.

Thanks to a minor expansion spell, his broom and cauldron fit in too, as well as some of his favorite books (you never know, he figured); magnifying glass, camera, some extra shoes and a pair of rain-boots, telescope, his old camping tent, papers and quills and some ink, all that sorts of stuff. He couldn’t leave anything behind, Merlin only knew what he would encounter!

He changed his clothes swiftly; he put on his best suit and tie, a pin in either lapel, one with the school crest and the other with his House crest. The Horned Serpent glowed golden. He brushed his hair back and tied it up, then put the brush in his pack too.

Very well, then.

He was ready to set off.

He closed and locked his quarters behind himself as he left. The few teachers yet to depart for the summer waved him off in the hallway and wished him luck. It seemed word had spread about his trip. No wonder, really; Natasha, the Assistant Headmaster, might put up a cool exterior but under that, she was an irreparable gossip. She had the dirt on everyone, so he would expect no less of her.

Speaking of, she was there to see him off at the gate, along with Fury.

“Good luck,” she said, a smile on her face and a glint in her eye. “From what I’ve heard about Rogers, you’re gonna need it.”

“Here are your papers,” Fury said, killing the conversation there.

Bucky set his case down and took the papers, looking them over quickly. Travel permit, visa, identification, written orders from Fury, and so on, it was all in order. He tucked them into his inside jacket pocket for safe-keeping.

“A French Auror will meet you when you arrive,” Fury continued. “They’ll have to inspect your papers, of course, verify your identity. They’ll show you to the bank after that. Keep a record of mission-related expenses and you’ll be compensated once you get back.”

Bucky nodded. “And the bank has my account information?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s all been prepared,” Fury assured.

“Alright, then,” Bucky said, swallowing tightly. “Where’s the portkey?”

Natasha pulled an ordinary old rock out of her pocket and offered it to Bucky. “This is it. It’ll take you to Cimeterière de Montmartre, in Paris. It’s right near the wizarding district.”

Bucky took it and held it tightly in his hand, picking up his case too, just to make sure he didn’t leave it behind. Hm, he supposed he couldn't even say it didn't _look_ like a portkey, given that _any_ old thing could be turned into one.

Just as he was about to ask when it would be taking off, _it took off._

Though the take-off was unexpected, the journey was nothing special for Bucky, as he had by then traveled by portkey many times; it was the usual tugging sensation in his gut, like he was being pulled along by a fish hook in his navel, followed by the strange feeling of falling and rising at the same time with wind rushing past him, before he could finally look down and see the ground below him again. He spotted the French Auror, who waited among the graves. He maneuvered himself to be feet first towards the ground. He imagined himself walking down a grand, _but invisible,_ staircase in the sky, easily walking himself down to the ground.

The Auror greeted him with a polite smile as he reached the ground finally.

“Good afternoon, Mister Barnes,” she said with only a slight accent, offering his hand. “Welcome to Paris!”

Bucky smiled too, tossing the rock aside since its use was no more. “Good to be here!” he said as he took her hand. “But you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours!”

The woman laughed. “Ah, my apologies,” she said. “My name is Gamora. May I see your papers, please?”

“Certainly!” he said.

He set his bag down and pulled the papers from his pocket, which he handed over. She looked through them raptly, comparing him to the picture on the identification. He handed over his wand for inspection as well, and she of course cleared it without delay then handed it back to him.

“All is in order, then!” Gamora said, allowing him to put his papers and wand away again. “Now, please take my arm and I will take you to Montmartre, the wizarding quarters of the city.”

Bucky took his bag then her arm.

With a snap and a crackle, they Disapparated across the city.

When he opened his eyes, they were on a small platform in an otherwise crowded street. Gamora quickly pulled him down from the slight elevation.

“Apparition platform,” the Auror explained. “A place kept clear for people to Apparate to, to make sure bystanders don’t get hurt.”

Bucky hummed, looking over his shoulder at the platform, even as Gamora pulled him along. Very smart, a good way to, as she said, keep bystanders safe and out of the way.

The walk to the bank wasn’t far. In only a few minutes they came upon a grand marble building, golden letters spelling its name across the facade. The inside was much the same as the bank at home. High pedestal desks lined the hall; the goblins occupying them were, as could be expected, counting and inspecting and weighing coins. After waiting in line for another few minutes, they were served by one of these goblins. Gamora acted as an intermediary, translating back and forth during the transaction as Bucky didn’t speak any French. After having a thorough look at Bucky’s papers, the goblin stepped down from his desk and disappeared away for some time. He returned quite shortly, though, and presented Bucky with a pouch of coins. Both Bucky and Gamora were made to sign for the withdrawal, which was stamped with several different stamps by the goblin, replicated three times over (one copy for the bank, one copy for Bucky, and one copy for Gamora), before they were thanked for their patronage and bid a good day.

“Two-hundred Bezants should be quite enough,” Gamora told him as they left the bank. “They are accepted in all of Europe, but reluctantly so, in Britain. They prefer their own Galleons. The big gold coins are one Bezant, the smaller silver ones are half a Bezant, and the coppers are a quarter Bezant. We don’t have separate names for them, like you do, or the British.”

“I see,” Bucky hummed.

They stopped on the side of the street, putting a handful of coins in his pocket and the pouch into his case.

“What next?” he asked, then. “What should I do?”

“That’s up to you, Mister Barnes,” the Auror said. “My mission here was only to meet you, bring you to the bank, help you withdraw your money, but that’s all. Now, my mission is complete and I’m going back to my Ministry. Have a good day, Mister Barnes. Good luck. I have heard this man, Rogers, is somewhat of a hermit.”

And with that, she Disapparated again.

Then Bucky was alone in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language, looking for a man he had no idea how to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful banner by wonderful Mona, that you can find [here](https://buchanansbum.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky pointed to the menu. The young witch who attended him leaned in to look, nodding in understanding, and fired a quick spell towards the cafe’s counter, before hurrying away. The coffee swiftly brewed itself, and delivered itself to him in a neat porcelain cup moments later.

He looked through the papers he had on Rogers again as he sipped his coffee.

Apparently, he was last seen in Paris just some day ago. Word was that he was traveling northwards next, towards Scandinavia.

Hm... Perhaps it would do well to wait until night fell; then he could simply cast a concealment spell over himself and his broom, and fly north. It would be a good bet that Rogers was doing the same. Once Bucky got to Scandinavia, he could find his way to the wizarding community and ask around there. Hopefully, he’d get an idea of where Rogers was going.

Very well, that was the plan.

Now he just needed to wait for dark.

And as he did that, he took the chance to wander around Montmartre as well. It was a wonderful place, truly! Quite unlike anything back home! Well, perhaps that was just the _vacation_ making him see things, but nonetheless, he enjoyed himself. 

He bought a wonderful set of quills from a stationary store, feathers in all ranges of color. In a clothing boutique just up the street from there, he purchased a sensible pair of boots and some gloves to keep him from the cold when he went up north. In a herbology shop, he procured a good assortment of ingredients for his potion-making, things that were a little harder to find back home. He even picked up some snacks for himself!

Once his exploring was finished, there was not much else to do but wait, so he took a seat on a bench in the sun and set about to read one of the books he had packed for himself.

*

The street began to clear at dusk. That was when Bucky found his way to the exit a polite French witch had managed to describe to him, and left Montmartre and entered the No-Maj world again.

There, the streets were quite clear as well. Still, Bucky walked for some time until he found a more secluded corner, where no passers-by would stumble upon him.

He dug his broom and Night-Flight goggles out of his case. He tied off his case to its shaft, then put on his goggles, easing his sight in the dark of night. Then, he mounted his broom, cast his concealment charm, and took to the air.

The compass mounted on the broom-shaft pointed him north and he followed it true.

By the graves of Salem, it was a wonder to fly again! He never had the chance these days, with his work at Ilvermorny keeping him so busy during the school-year. Flying freely like this, _that_ felt like magic. It made his blood rush and his head spin, an almost manic grin of elation on his face.

The flight took some hours but he didn’t mind it at all. He took the chance to relish in it, savoring it.

He crossed over France, into Germany, across cities and forests and fields and everything in between. He watched the world below him as he sped past and it blurred in his eyes. He crossed the water from Germany straight to Sweden, bypassing Denmark and its islands.

There was a city near the water. He decided that that would be as good a starting point as any. He landed outside its edges, of course, then walked the rest of the way. Once he came into the city, he pulled out his MagiMap; it would find the wizarding quarters in the city and show him the way there. Always a good thing to have when travelling.

He found it without trouble, jumping on a manhole cover three times on his left leg then three times on his right leg while humming, to be transported to what the MagiMap called _Häxkvarteret._ Lucky for him, some of the shops were still open and people still milled about. Bucky hurried to the first inn he could see.

“Good evening, I’m American, do you speak English?” he asked the young wizard behind the desk.

The boy smiled. “Certainly, sir!” he said, though accented. “How can I help you? Do you need a room?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said.

He put his suitcase up on the counter, popping it open and digging in. Momentarily, he pulled out the papers he had on Rogers and found the photograph that had been included. It didn’t look recent, but it was apparently the best the Confederation could get their hands on.

“I’m looking for this man,” Bucky said as he showed the photo to the boy. “I have a job to offer him but he seems difficult to track down. You wouldn’t have happened to see him?”

The boy hummed at the picture, as the man in it laughed mutely. “Yes! I have seen him! I think, three, maybe four days ago!” he said. “He had dinner with someone in our restaurant, then had to go.”

“Do you happen to know where he went? Where he was heading?”

“Yes, I overheard. To the north. To Norway. I heard him and his companion mention some place called Masi.”

Masi. Norway. _Perfect!_

Bucky dropped the photo back in his bag, shutting it and taking it off the counter. “Do you have a map of Norway?”

“One moment!”

The boy disappeared below the counter, rifling through some papers by the sound of it, then appeared again. He slid the map across to Bucky.

“This will be it. Sweden, Finland, and Norway,” he said. “Up the street and left at the crossing, you will come to the fireplace station. There should be one to take you up north.”

“Thank you!” Bucky said, smiling, dropping a gold Bezant on the counter for the map. “Thanks so much! Have a good night!”

“You as well, sir! Pleasant travel!”

Map in hand, Bucky made his way to the fireplace station, just where the boy promised it would be.

The station was a dead-end street, the back walls of houses lining it. Fireplaces were installed on every wall, evenly spaced and carefully marked with their destination. So each fireplace only went to one place? Interesting. He consulted his new map.

Masi was just north of the northern Swedish border but it looked like a very small town, unlikely to have its own fireplace. Another quick consult with the signs over each fireplace confirmed as much. Hm, the closest stop would be Luleå.

It would appear he had two options; either he took the fireplace to Luleå and flew the rest of the way, or he could bypass the fireplaces and fly straight from the station to Masi. Considering that he just spent half the night flying from Paris, another few hours on the broom was not a major obstacle. Then again, taking the fireplace _would_ save him a few hours.

That settled it. Fireplace to Luleå, fly from there.

He set the fire ablaze, took a handful of floo powder, stepped into the flames, and went on the next step of his journey.

*

He was cold from the moment he stepped out of the fireplace in Luleå.

_Graves of Salem, it was cold there for a summer night._

He found his gloves and new shoes, as well as his coat and his scarf, taking a moment to bundle up before getting back on his broom.

This flight was…less pleasant than the previous one had been. It was colder up north, of course, which wasn’t unexpected. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as long of a flight as the previous. He was beyond relieved when he spotted what he figured had to be this Masi place. It was the only signs of population he had seen in a while now, so that had to be it.

Imagine his shock, when it suddenly felt like he was hit by a train, being thrown abruptly from his broom.

He fell haplessly in the night, too shocked to even cry out.

The ground was coming closer very fast and his brain stood absolutely still.

What was he supposed to do? Could he do anything? He didn’t even have the sense in him to reach for his wand, or to Apparate.

But again he was shocked; a spell caught him. It caught him like a net when there were only a handful of inches left to the ground.

Then he suddenly fell the last of the distance, face first into a patch of snow.

He managed, somehow, to roll over onto his back. He gasped for air. _Merlin’s beard…_ He almost _died!_ What happened? He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary! He just flew on like normal! That _shouldn’t_ have happened!

 _“On your feet!”_ someone shouted at him.

What now?

He tried, and somehow succeeded, to sit himself up. From his left, the figure of a person was moving in the dark; through his Night-Flight goggles, he saw the figure clearly, as though the midday sun was shining.

_Rogers?_

He found him! Bucky found him! He did it! Salem’s graves, he actually found Rogers!

 _“Get up!”_ Rogers shouted, skidding to a stop across the icy grass.

He had his wand raised, pointed at Bucky, ready to defend and attack as necessary.

Bucky raised his hands.

“Who are you?!” Rogers shouted again.

“M-My name’s Bucky Barnes! James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short!” Bucky tried to explain. “I-I-I’m the potions professor at I-Ilvermorny!”

Rogers’ stance slackened. “Ilvermorny?”

“Yes! Headmaster Fury sent me,” Bucky continued. “He’s got a job for you, wants you to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Then, Rogers lowered his wand. _“Fury?”_

“Y-Yes?”

Rogers scoffed. “Well, Fury’s a bastard who thinks just ‘cause we were friends in school, I’m at his beck and call! _He_ can shove his job offer up his ass and _you_ can go home.”

With that, Rogers put his wand away and started walking.

Bucky staggered to his feet. He fumbled for his wand, calling his broom and bag to himself, then hurried after Rogers.

“Please! Just look at what he’s offering you,” Bucky pleaded. “I’ve got it all on paper! He really wants you! He said you’d bring something unique to the table!”

It seemed Rogers would have none of it. “Don’t care! I’m busy!”

“Doing what?”

_“Learning!”_

Learning?

“Well, why not help _kids_ learn?” Bucky questioned, still shuffling raptly after, broom in one hand and suitcase in the other, goggles still on. “Isn’t that kind of a logical next step? Teach them everything you’ve learned so far!”

They were moving away from the flickering lights of civilization in Masi, into the dark of night.

_“Not interested!”_

“Why not?”

“None of your business!”

“C’mon! _Please!_ Just look at the papers! Fury’s gonna _flay me_ if I come back and he sees _this_ in my head!”

“Hope Ilvermorny’s hospital wing is still as good as I remember!”

 _“Why_ are you so opposed to this?! To _teaching!”_

“Because Grindelwald killed my parents!” Rogers shouted, turning on his toes to scream it in Bucky’s face.

Bucky skid to a stop, wide-eyed at the outburst.

Rogers exhaled slowly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it was obvious.

“Or… His followers did, at least,” he continued, as though feeling the need to explain himself. “They were tortured to death with the Cruciatus curse, because they refused tofollow him. They were good people. Killed by _dark_ magic. Dark wizards. But I’m a good person too. And I refuse to believe that the Dark Arts are what everyone believes them to be. Magic isn’t dark, it’s not light. It just _is._ It’s the _people_ who’re dark. And I won’t stop learning everything I can until I can _prove it_ to everyone.”

“Then come to Ilvermorny!” Bucky insisted. “Teach _that_ to the students! Show them that _they_ are the ones who control whether darkness thrives, or not! _That_ is how you can prove it!”

Rogers sighed, eyes falling closed.

“Fine, I’ll look at the papers.”

Before he knew it, Bucky had been grabbed by the lapels and Disapparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another wonderful piece by wonderful mona, that you can again find [here](https://buchanansbum.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Rogers had a tent. With a strong expansion charm, it was more like a four-bedroom house! On the outside, it looked like a tiny one-person tent, but on the inside, it was an enormous, sprawling home. It made sense, if Rogers had been using it for the last fifty years.

It was _warm_ inside. The air seemed golden. A fire roared in an ornate fireplace. The sheet walls were covered in photographs; Rogers was in some of them, but not many. Most of them were of other people, of places, of things, a documentation of these fifty years. The place was filled with plush couches and armchairs, rugs covered the ground, there were tables all around here and there and they were covered in things; little things, knick-knacks, bits and bobs, memorabilia.

Bucky set his bag down, along with his broom. He removed his goggles and his gloves and coat, while Rogers did the same. He scratched at his beard and harrumphed about this and that, as Bucky put everything away in his bag while finding his papers as well.

He sat down in one of the two armchairs by the fire. Rogers shuffled around some more, then sat down as well.

“I guess there should be a proper introduction,” Rogers said. “Steve Rogers.”

Bucky quickly offered his hand, which Rogers, _Steve,_ shook. “Bucky Barnes,” he said. “Here are the papers.”

Steve took them as well, with a sigh. Bucky waited again while Steve looked through them. As he waited, he poured them each a glass of the firewhisky that sat on the small side-table between their chairs. He drank slowly and delighted in the warmth filling his body from the inside out. Steve drank too, eyes never leaving his papers.

Finally, Steve hummed and folded the documents together.

“I’ll have to consider it,” he said. “And I have some things to finish here too. You can stay. If you want. I can set up a room for you. I’m sure you’re tired. From the trip.”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

“So, Horned Serpent, huh?” Steve said then, quite unprompted, as he refilled his glass.

Bucky glanced down at the pin in his lapel for a brief moment. “Yeah. It was that or Pukwudgie. My mother was Horned Serpent so I figured, why not?” he explained. “What about you? I know you were chosen by all the Houses. What made you pick Thunderbird?”

Steve shrugged, sipping his drink. “Had the coolest statue.”

*

Bucky’s room was small, but comfortable. It had its own bed and desk, as well as a fireplace to keep him warm. He didn’t need more and didn’t ask for more.

He set his suitcase down on the foot of the bed then sat down next to it.

“I’ll be leaving at dawn,” Steve told him. “I’ll be back by nightfall. Probably. Just stay in the tent and you’ll be fine.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Bucky wondered, curious as to what the man was planning on doing in the terse landscape.

“I have a meeting,” Steve said.

“A meeting?” Bucky repeated, confused.

A meeting? Out here? With who?

Steve cleared his throat. He crossed his arms tightly. “Yes. There’s a Sami noaidi, a shaman, living in the woods a bit away from here. He’s one of the very few left. It’s likely that their traditions will die out soon. I want to document as much as I can before that happens,” he explained lowly. “Maybe it will help future generations find their peoples magic again. He’s agreed to speak to me. Not sure how long it’ll take.”

“Okay.”

“Good night.”

Steve left before Bucky could say the same to him.

*

When Bucky woke up, Steve was already gone.

At a loss for what else to do, Bucky puttered around the tent. He shuffled from room to room, sating his curiosity little by little.

In the sitting room, he was intrigued by more of the photographs fixed to the walls. Steve really had been all over the world. Lions in the African Savannah, underwater pictures of a reef, Machu Picchu, the Great Wall of China, Taj Mahal, the Colosseum, Spain’s Alhambra and Sagrada Familia, Aya Sofya in Turkey, Petra in Jordan, Tikal in Guatemala, Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia, the pyramids; the pictures were incredible, marked with a date and place, keeping a record of his travels.

In the library, the bookcases were filled with handwritten journals spanning the fifty years of Steve’s adventure. Bucky, ever so curious, tried to pry, to read one, but found them all to be written in some kind of shorthand. Not exactly a code, but definitely enough to ensure that only Steve could properly interpret the writings. Another few bookcases were filled with sketchbooks, which in turn were filled with the most intricate drawings Bucky had probably ever seen. They spanned across all sorts of motifs; people, places, things, each one a memory carefully documented onto paper in picture form. Bucky was sure he spent hours just going through all the sketchbooks. He would have to plead with Steve to tell him all about them.

Then, quite meaning to, Bucky stumbled upon another bedroom. This one was ever so clearly belonging to Steve himself. Though the whole place was filled with personal affects, this room still felt more _personal._ More of a sanctum than the rest of the place.

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed.

He already knew Steve’s _motivations_ behind this whole adventure, and yet… Somehow, he got the feeling that Steve was running away from something. Yes, traveling and studying like this took time, but fifty years? And according to what the Congress could tell, Steve hadn’t been back to the US since the moment he left the country, eight months after graduating Ilvermorny, once his exploration of the States was complete.

Fifty years was a long time. Being away from home for that long would take itself out on anyone, but not on Steve. Steve seemed particularly _unbothered_ by it; in fact, he seemed more upset over the possibility of _going back,_ than anything.

Why didn’t he want to come home?

Bucky picked up the picture frame sitting on the nightstand. In the photo was a man and a woman, as well as a baby. The parents seemed almost unaware of the camera, instead more focused on calming their crying child, fussing over it.

Steve’s parents. They had to be. Sarah Dane, later Rogers, and Joseph Rogers, pure-bloods of the highest pedigree. Killed for refusing to follow Grindelwald. To Bucky’s recollection, Grindelwald was imprisoned in 1945. That meant that when his parents died, Steve couldn’t have been more than five years old.

Bucky’s stomach sank.

His first thought was that perhaps everything in the States reminded Steve of his parents, which would explain his reluctance to return. But maybe it was worse; maybe _nothing_ reminded him of them. Maybe he had been too young to remember anything about them. Bucky was sure the grief sat in Steve’s chest like an open wound, salted by every thought of home.

Bucky set the frame back down then left the bedroom.

*

Bucky was having a late dinner when he heard the tell-tale sounds of Steve shuffling back into the tent, muttering about the cold and shaking off the snow.

Bucky left the dining room to meet him. When he got there, Steve was just kicking off his boots and hurrying over to the fireplace, hands out to warm them.

“So, uh, how did it go?” Bucky asked in an attempt to be polite. “With the shaman? What was it you said, a noaidi?”

Steve cupped his hands over his mouth, breathing out hot air onto them, shivering slightly. “Yeah. Noaidi. Went well, I guess. Goin’ back tomorrow.”

“Oh. Um, are you hungry? I threw something together in the kitchen,” Bucky said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The blond shook his head. “No. I’d love some food.”

With that, they both moved back to the dining room. They sat down on either side of the table, Steve pulling out his wand to call a plate and cutlery to himself from the kitchen. They ate in a companionable silence after that. There wasn’t anything to talk about, Bucky supposed. They didn’t _know_ each other! Bucky had no clue how to talk to Steve! And it wasn’t like Steve seemed particularly interested in talking to Bucky either.

But they would be sharing the tent for at least another day, so Bucky knew it was probably best to get on good terms with each other.

“Have you thought about Fury’s offer?” Bucky inquired.

Hopefully, that would start some kind of conversation.

“Not really,” Steve said flatly.

Or not.

Bucky hummed. “Tell me about this…noaidi. I’m curious.”

Maybe using a topic that Steve was clearly interested in would be a better conversation-starter.

“He’s old. Does magic. Lives in the woods.”

Or not, yet again.

Bucky resisted the urge to sigh.

Even then, Steve seemed to realize what Bucky was trying to do.

He set his cutlery down and sipped his wine. “He’s one’a the last noaidi left in the world,” he said, then. “The last _real_ ones, anyway. The ones with real magic. The tradition and the magic is dying out. Been dyin’ out since the seventeenth century. The Sami people have almost the same history as Native Americans. Their land taken, their people killed, their culture crushed. Catholicism and the Protestant Reformation basically destroyed Sami religion and shamanism. There isn’t much left of it. When I talked to the noaidi and his daughter, they both seemed happy to get things documented. Think it worries them a lot. Their culture disappearing... I’m just happy to be able to help, in any way I can. Even if its just keeping somewhat of a record."

“It’s awful,” Bucky agreed softly. “I’m glad you’re able to document things at least a little. It’s not a solution, of course, but like you said before, maybe it will be of help to future Sami. Help them connect with their heritage. Really, though, it’s a _disgrace_ that their people are in this state at all. The same with Native Americans, of course. I can’t believe anyone could ever try to stomp out a whole people like that. Just…wipe out a whole culture. I can’t even imagine everything that’s been lost...”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. That’s…part of why I’m doing this, too,” he admitted. “I… It’s nowhere near on the same level, but… I’m the last in the Dane family. My mother’s family. The witch-trials killed a lot of our ancestors, and since then, the family’s been dying out. Everyone was so secretive, wanting to protect _the family,_ that they never let anyone document their history or anything like that. If my mother were still around, she could’ve told me all about it, but- With her gone, I know _nothing_ about that side of my family. Its oral history. Nothing’s been documented. With her gone, all knowledge and tradition and history that my family had is just _gone._ And…I don’t want anyone else to go through that. Maybe it’s a foolish quest, but I’m gonna try my best.”

“I think that’s why you should come to Ilvermorny,” Bucky said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Pass on everything you’ve learned. Make sure that no matter what happens, that knowledge doesn’t disappear.”

The blond sighed, pushing the food around on his plate with the fork. “Honestly, and I hate to admit it, _but_ maybe you’re right,” he said. “Dunno what I’ve been doing all this for if it wasn’t to share it.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I love about teaching, Steve,” Bucky said, smiling. “Adults can be so hardheaded and rigid. Set in their ways. Unable to imagine learning new things. But kids? As long as you can make it fun for them, they will learn everything you have to teach them and they’ll take it with them for the rest of their lives. If you’re a good teacher, they’ll never forget you or what you taught them.”

That had Steve smiling too. “You’re really passionate about it, aren’t you?” he asked. “Teaching, I mean.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, it’s... It’s the greatest thing in the world to me. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else, really,” he said. “I just... I love watching those kids grow up. I have my first class with them when they’re eleven and my last when they’re eighteen. I get to be a huge part of their lives, and they’re a huge part of my life.”

His smile widened as Steve chuckled. “Y’know, doesn’t sound all that bad when you put it like that,” Steve admitted.

“It _isn’t_ bad,” Bucky assured. “It’s fun! Sure, it’s got some drawbacks. Y’know, grading papers, planning curriculum, but… That’s _such_ a small part of it! After a while, you won’t even think about it.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and you might actually sell me on this thing,” Steve said, smiling even with how acidic his tone was.

It made Bucky laugh. “I swear, it ain’t as bad as you might think it is.”

_“_ _Oh, please!_ I remember what I was like in school!” the other wizard retorted with a scoff. “What we were all like. We were _horrible!_ I think I might’ve been the main cause of Professor Coulson’s hair-loss.”

Bucky laughed aloud at that as well. “Coulson taught you too?! Merlin’s beard, I knew he was old but not _that_ old! I’m a teacher too but he still gives me shit for all the crap I did instead of listening in his class.”

“Is he still in that same old classroom?”

“Third floor, down the hall, fourth on the left? Yeah, I’m pretty sure hes gonna be in that classroom ‘til he dies.”

At that, they both laughed.

*

Bucky found himself being walked to his room after dinner.

“So I guess you’ll be gone when I wake up?” Bucky asked as they stood in the door.

Steve shrugged. “That’s the plan. The noaidi’s daughter said she’d write down everything she knows for me, to cut my stay short,” he said. “It’ll probably be the last day. Might be able to leave tomorrow night.”

“Does that mean you’re coming to Ilvermorny?”

The blond took a deep breath. “I’ll come. But I can’t promise I’ll take the job. Gonna talk to Fury about it, at least.”

Bucky smiled. “Well, at least he can’t say I failed the mission,” he said.

“Yeah, I’d hate for you to get punished for me being an asshole,” Steve said with a sheepish look. “And, um, thanks for dinner. It was really good.”

“I’ve never cooked reindeer before so I’m glad it was a success,” Bucky said. “But...I had a good time too. You’re not...what I thought you’d be.”

Steve snorted, running a hand through his hair. “What’d you think I was gonna be?”

“Well... You’ve got the reputation of a hermit,” Bucky admitted. “Distant. Out of touch, I guess. But I’m glad you’re not like that.”

“Good night, Bucky,” Steve said then. “I have to...go to bed. I’ll be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Good night.”

Steve lingered still. He weighed on his heels as if uncertain if what came next.

Then, quite out of the blue, Bucky found himself being kissed.

Shyly. On the cheek.

Then it was over, and Steve was all but _running_ away.

Oh. That was…quite nice, actually.

Bucky didn’t stop smiling until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used Sami culture and shamanism because i found it to be seriously fascinating! Of course, i had no intention to cause any offence to anyone of Sami origins and heritage, and if i unintentionally did so, i am sincerely sorry. there was no ill-intent, i promise, but inform me of my misstep/s, and i will rectify things as best i possibly can! <3


	4. Chapter 4

It was only the early evening when Steve returned. Despite having promised a late return, the _early_ return was not the most shocking thing about it all.

The most shocking thing?

Steve being covered in blood.

The man stumbled through the tent-flaps, groaning with pain, clutching at his injured arm. It made Bucky shoot out of his seat. He ran across the room, catching Steve as he staggered.

“Steve! Oh, Merlin, Steve, _what happened?”_ he questioned, taking on some of Steve’s weight.

“Bear,” Steve grunted. “A bear happened. Mother, with cubs.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky said.

He held on tight to Steve and Apparated them to the kitchen, saving them the walk. Steve groaned at being so wildly jostled, but Bucky would have none of it. If the idiot got himself hurt, then it was only his own fault that he was in pain even when Bucky was _trying to heal him._ Bucky eased him down into a chair at the table.

“Stay there.”

In quick succession, Bucky Apparated to his room, grabbed his suitcase, and Apparated back.

“Get your jacket and shirt off,” Bucky ordered as he pulled out his wand. “I’ll get you fixed up.”

While Steve grunted and groaned over removing his clothes and the pain that came from it, Bucky flicked his wand at the suitcase. It swiftly popped open; his cauldron shot out of its depth, followed by all ingredients required. The cauldron planted itself on the stove, logs filled the fireplace and were swiftly set ablaze. A stream of water erupted from the tip of Bucky’s wand, quickly filling the cauldron up. A wooden spoon started stirring it slowly.

Waiting for the water to boil, Bucky tended to Steve again, helping him out of his sweater and undershirt.

_Gormlaith’s gambit…_

His right shoulder was all torn up; the bear must have bit him, shook him up. He was probably lucky he still had his arm left! Beyond that, his back was filled with claw-marks and his whole torso was covered in dark bruises.

_“Episky!”_ Bucky said with his wand pointed to the smaller of the claw-marks, and repeated it many times.

Those minor wounds were easily healed by the spell, but the bigger ones, particular those on Steve’s shoulder, would take some stronger stuff. He flicked at the suitcase again. A glass bottle popped up out of the case, and Bucky caught it. He also reached in and pulled out one of his shirts. He tore up the fabric into strips, he popped the cork out of the bottle, and doused the strips in the blue liquid.

“Murtlap essence,” he explained to Steve. “It should help.”

He laid the soaked rags over Steve’s body, making sure they covered the wounds. With another spell, he also made certain they wouldn’t come loose or fall off. Steve hissed at the touch, the pain probably burning bright on his skin.

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled, the pain likely also leaving him weak and tired.

“And I’ll be making a blood-replenishing potion,” Bucky also informed. “Once the wounds have sealed, I have something for the bruises too. But how do you feel? Any broken bones?”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he muttered.

Bucky nodded, applying some more soaked rags. “Good. I’ll examine you, just to be safe. Untreated fractures are no good, I’m sure you know,” he said.

He turned to the stove and the cauldron on it. The water boiled, steam rising. Perfect.

He rummaged through the ingredients, which had gathered themselves on the side-table. One by one, he added them to the draught, no need for measuring or weighing. He knew this recipe like the back of his hand! Best that he did, since he was the main supplier of the school’s hospital wing. He concocted the potion rather quickly, then left it to putter. It had to boil for a few minutes before being ready to consume.

“Feeling any better?” he asked as he turned to Steve again.

Steve nodded, his breathing a little laboured. “Yeah. Less pain.”

“Good. Let me have a look.”

Bucky pulled up a chair and sat down beside Steve. With a gentle touch, he pealed back one of the strips laying over Steve’s shoulder.

“Looks good,” he said. “They’re closing up. Should only be a little while before they’re gone. Might have some scars, though.”

Steve let out a tired hum. “Nice. Scars are cool.”

Bucky shook his head, smiling, rolling his eyes at him. He let the strips fall back into place again. On his orders, Steve sat up as straight as he could. Bucky went on his knees before him. He tried to be gentle when he touched Steve’s chest. The man’s rough breathing was slightly alarming, it was best to examine him as soon as possible.

Despite Steve’s hisses and winces, Bucky could find no broken ribs. Not _fully_ broken, anyway. There were a few cracks here and there, but that was better than full breaks.

“This might sting,” Bucky warned.

He tapped his wand to Steve’s chest, and said _“Emendo.”_

Steve hissed and gasped, flinching with pain.

“Come on, I’ll take you to bed,” Bucky said, taking hold of Steve’s arm and helping him to his feet. “You should rest.”

Steve visibly bit his lip to keep from shouting, when Bucky Apparated them. Once they were in Steve’s room, Bucky helped Steve lay down on his bed, tucking him in too. He made the trip to the kitchen again and poured a glass of the potion, as well as finding his tin of Star Grass salve. Steve drank deep from the glass, only grimacing at the taste but gave no protests, then allowed the salve to be applied to his chest.

“Thank you,” Steve said, while Bucky focused on the darker bruises on his abdomen. “For the help.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t worry. Just- What the hell happened?” he questioned. “Yes, _a bear,_ but how? _How_ did you end up getting attacked by a damn bear?”

Steve sighed, eyes falling closed. “The noaidi was feeling ill so I left early to let him rest. Figured I’d walk back. Enjoy the nature. And I stopped, ‘cause I saw some herbs I wanted to pick. And then… She was just there. Cubs hidin’ behind her,” he explained. “I don’t blame her, she was just protecting her cubs.”

Bucky nodded to himself. He supposed he couldn’t really put all that much blame on Steve for all this. Accidents happened, and all. Steve was right too; the bear wasn’t to blame either, she was protecting her young. It was an unfortunate situation, but…such was life.

“There,” Bucky said. “You can roll over on your front, if you wanna let those cuts on your back rest. The bruises here should lighten up soon. Might have to re-apply the salve a few times, though, given how severe they were. And once I can remove the Murtlap, I’ll apply some to the bruises on your back too.”

“Thanks again,” Steve said, his voice low.

Bucky brushed the stray hairs out of Steve’s face. “You’re welcome.”

He found his hand being taken and held tightly by Steve’s good hand.

*

“Up you go,” Bucky grunted as he all but pulled Steve up to sit.

Steve hissed and groaned, still sore and aching.

Bucky sat down on the bed, just behind Steve. He began to remove the rags, gently, one by one, then dropping them into the bowl that sat on the nightstand. Some of them had gone a strange shade of brown; blood had soaked into the fabric, then dried up. Luckily, though, the Murtlap essence had sealed everything up before too much blood could be lost, and the potion Bucky had made helped as well.

“You should visit the hospital wing once we get to Ilvermorny,” Bucky said as he removed the last of the rags. “I’m a decent healer, but I’m no expert. Banner should have a look at you, just to be safe.”

Steve nodded. “If you say so,” he conceded.

“But as far as I can tell, it’s all looking good for now. The bleeding's stopped, the wounds have closed, and the bruises on your front look much better,” Bucky informed. “I’ll apply some Star Grass on your back too, but if you want, you should be well enough to travel.”

“Alright. We’ll pack up once you get the Star Grass on,” Steve decided.

“Lay down on your front, please.”

With some more help, Steve did as the doctor ordered and laid down on his chest. _Sayre’s sins,_ this was eating through his Star Grass salve, he might not even have enough left to cover Steve’s whole back. Either way, he did what he could with what was left, spreading it out as thin as possible. He managed to thin the salve out with a good few drops of water and alcohol too, which helped.

“What’s this scar here?” Bucky asked conversationally.

He really wanted to distract himself from the fact that he was rubbing his hands all over Steve, so he focused on the scraggly scar in the middle of the mans back, just an inch off his spine.

Steve hummed, one side of his face pressed to the pillows. “Africa. Maybe twenty years back? There’s a hidden wizarding kingdom called Wakanda. I was in the jungle with a healer of theirs, looking for plants and herbs they use for their medicines. There’s this lil’…leech-like thing. Small, green worm thing. ‘Pparently, it burrows in under the skin, latches onto the skeleton, connects itself to the bloodstream, and thrives. _But_ it also releases a neurotoxin into the bloodstream which slowly kills the host while it plays home to the leech’s eggs,” Steve explained. “As it happens, I fell into a stream and one’a these leeches crept up my back and latched onto my spine. Guess I was lucky, though. The healer managed to do some emergency surgery in the middle of the jungle and burned the leech out. Neurotoxin left me a lil’ tingly in the fingers and toes sometimes, my legs go kinda numb now and then, but guess I’d rather have that than be dead, y’know?”

“That sounds… Well, I don’t know what to say,” Bucky admitted. “Sounds like an adventure.”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Now I guess you’ll have another set of scars to tell stories about.”

“Guess so.”

“There. That’s all the Star Grass salve I’ve got,” Bucky said as he wiped his hands off and screwed the lid back on the empty tin. “Banner should have something stronger anyway.”

Steve managed to sit up on his own. The salve covered both his chest and back in an oily sheen, which made the remaining bruises look rather odd.

“Let’s pack up, then.”

With that, he stood up. But he wobbled slightly, hands instinctively going out to find something to steady him. _Which_ happened to be Bucky. So Bucky found himself being clutched onto for dear life.

“You alright?” Bucky asked quickly, grabbing onto Steve’s arms in return to help him. “Are you dizzy? Blurred vision? Cold-sweats?”

Steve shook his head, eyes screwed shut. “No. No, I’m okay. Just…got light-headed.”

Bucky placed his hand on Steve’s forehead, feeling his temperature, then touched his neck to check his pulse. Alright, no fever, no cold-sweats, and normal pulse.

“It’s probably the blood-replenishing potion,” he informed. “Light-headedness is a common side-effect, especially after the first few uses. Give it a moment and it’ll pass. Once your blood-amount has stabilized, it shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

The patient nodded. “I’ll take it easy.”

“Good. Just don’t rush yourself, take it slow, alright?” Bucky ordered.

They sat Steve back down on the bed. Bucky retrieved some new clothes from the wardrobe, and left the room to give Steve the privacy to change. He hurried to his own room, gathering together all his things there, then went to the kitchen to stuff everything back into his suitcase. Once he was also bundled up with his boots, coat, and mittens, he went back to grab Steve.

While Steve seemed to walk quite alright on his own, Bucky _insisted_ he hold onto Bucky’s shoulder, just to be safe, should another bout of that light-headedness come over him. They moved raptly through the tent. Once at the exit, Steve stopped to pick up the satchel which hung on the coat-rack, as well as putting on his own boots, coat, and such.

Steve pulled out his wand once they did exit the tent. He held the satchel open and waved the wand at the tent.

The tent wasted not a moment in starting to uproot itself and packing itself together. The pack dropped into the satchel. Then, a moment later, a big rolled up carpet limped out of the very same satchel. The rug, which appeared to be of Persian origin, rolled itself out on the ground.

“A flying carpet?” Bucky said, caught quite off guard by this.

He had never used a flying carpet before! He knew they’d been outlawed in Britain for a good long while, which had influenced the fact that they were _heavily_ regulated in the US, which then meant that no civilian was allowed to own or use one.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “A sorcerer I met in Iran gave it to me. Traded it for a broomstick.”

Bucky helped Steve onto the carpet, then watched how he settled himself to use as a guideline. Following Steve’s lead, Bucky laid down on his front, length-wise with the carpet, with his suitcase at his feet. Bright, vibrant threads of red and gold sprouted from the weave of the carpet and wrapped around the suitcase, locking it down safe. The threads began to do the same to them, holding them in place as well.

“Just try not to question the carpet,” Steve said. “It’s a little sensitive. Don’t want it to dump us off in the middle of the ocean. Think about something else.”

Bucky screwed his eyes shut as the carpet began to move. It levitated off the ground, rising a few inches, then it took off like a shot from a cannon.

He tried to think good, happy thoughts about the carpet.

_It was a very nice carpet, very pleasing to look at, it had obviously been woven by a master, that much was clear from its beautiful, intricate patterns and vibrant colors, it’s golden threads seemed to shine all on their own, and it was quite comfortable to lay on as well, not as coarse to the touch as some other carpets may be, but instead rather soft, and it seemed very fast as well going by how furiously the wind rushed past them, he had no doubt in his mind that they would arrive promptly, and safely too, thanks to this very interesting binding spell which held them in place, Bucky wouldn’t have minded a word with whoever made this carpet so he could praise them on their work and thank them very much for trading with Steve so that Bucky could have the chance to experience such an incredible mode of transport, and and and and and and-_


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky made sure not to think it before he was standing on his own two feet, but he _really_ hoped he wouldn’t have to travel by carpet ever again. He did _not_ enjoy not being in control of things; he much preferred broomsticks, where he was indeed in full control.

“You okay?” Steve asked, clearly picking up on how the carpet had ruffled Bucky’s feathers.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” Bucky insisted anyway.

They had landed square in the middle of the castle’s sprawling lawns, which were wet with dew in that early morning. The travelers both divested themselves of their heavy coats and such, given that the temperature was much more bearable there, even given the time of day. The carpet rolled itself up as well and slunk back into Steve’s satchel.

Just as they were ready to make their way inside the castle, the Headmaster was coming out to meet them.

“Rogers, Barnes,” Headmaster Fury said, by way of greeting them. “I hope you’re aware that the regulations surrounding flying carpets are stricter than ever.”

Steve shrugged, leaning slightly on Bucky again. “Not in Norway they’re not,” he said. “And since we departed from a country in which there are very few regulations around flying carpets, we are not subject to the regulations of MACUSA, until such a time where our carpet becomes a threat to the International Statute of Secrecy. It’s not until we have landed in the territory controlled by MACUSA that my carpet falls under their purview. So yes, I would not be allowed to use it now, but on the flight into the country? Perfectly legal, so long as we departed from a country where the carpet was not illegal.”

Bucky watched the interaction quietly.

Fury hummed. “Practiced that, didn’t you?”

“Nope,” Steve said.

Fury had to chuckle, rolling his one eye. At that, Steve snorted as well.

“Good to see ya, Steve,” Fury said finally.

“You too, Nick,” Steve replied. “You mind if I make a stop in the hospital wing? Got my ass kicked by a bear, y’know.”

The Headmaster sighed. “Certainly. I’ll wake the healer.”

Bucky and Steve hurried into the castle as best they could. With Steve still suffering minor bouts of light-headedness and his body still aching, the trip was staggered. They had to stop several times so that Steve could rest for a moment, or to let the spinning in his head pass. Soon enough, though, Bruce, the school’s healer, ran to meet them part-ways to the hospital wing, still dressed in his pyjamas. He fell in under Steve’s other arm to carry part of his weight just as Bucky was doing.

Before long, they could ease him onto a bed in the hospital. Bucky pulled up a chair to sit by his side while Bruce scurried to gather his instruments and medicines.

“What happened?” Bruce asked.

“He was attacked by a bear,” Bucky informed.

_“A bear?”_ Bruce repeated, sounding quite shocked, which made Steve chuckle.

“Yeah, it surprised me too,” the potions master agreed. “I administered some treatment to the best of my ability. Blood-replenishing potion, Murtlap essence, _episky,_ and _emendo,_ as well as some Star Grass salve. It’s not much, but I suppose it held him together well enough.”

“He’s in one piece, at least,” Bruce agreed with a smile as he came to Steve’s bedside. “Hope you don’t like these clothes too much.”

Before Steve could ask what that meant, Bruce had traced a line over Steve’s body and the spell ripped the patient’s clothes open and stripped them off his body, leaving him _(thankfully)_ with his britches intact. Bucky did his best to avoid blushing, but he wasn’t particularly sure if he succeeded or not.

*

Once Bruce’s treatments were completed and Steve had been prescribed some more Star Grass for the bruising, the professors departed from the hospital and headed for the teacher’s tower. The northernmost tower of the school was all teacher's accommodations; modest rooms for all the staff to retreat to at the end of the day. Given that Professor Strange still inhabited a room, Steve was, for the time being, relegated to the even more modest guest room. It likely wouldn’t be for long, though, seeing as Professor Strange was retiring and would therefore be relinquishing his quarters to the new professor, if Steve did agree to join the faculty.

Steve didn’t appear to mind the guestroom, though. Still wrapped in a robe from the hospital, he laid down on the bed and let out a relieved sigh.

“Thanks for the help,” he said to Bucky, who stood just inside the door.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later.”

Bucky turned to leave.

_“Wait!”_ Steve shouted, grunting as he sat up, clutching his side.

Bucky froze, looking back at Steve with big eyes.

“Don’t- Don’t go,” Steve said. “Stay. With me. Here. In my bed.”

Bucky could feel his cheeks begin to go red.

But honestly, he couldn’t find a good enough reason to _not_ stay. He walked over. He toed out of his shoes and loosened his tie as he stood beside Steve’s bed. Steve laid back down carefully, shuffling to the side to leave room. Bucky laid down.

They laid silently.

After a moment, there was some shuffling; Steve was moving but Bucky couldn’t quite see what he was doing.

Then he felt a hand take his.

Steve was holding his hand.

Well. Bucky was glad the Headmaster sent him on that trip, was all he would say.


End file.
